Scandalous Love (37 page)

Nicole could not believe
what she was hearing. "I am afraid I have more than set him on his ear
today!"

"Well, it was a bit
reckless to participate in the fistfight," Isobel said cheerfully.
"But I will not tell a soul."

Hadrian did not think he
had ever been angrier in his life. Will O'Henry was no longer unconscious, and
he had related every detail of what had happened that afternoon. His strides
deadly, the Duke returned to the library.

He paused before Isobel
and Nicole, towering above them as they sat together on the sofa. "Mother,
tonight would not be a good time for you to join us for supper."

Isobel got to her feet.
"I understand. Be gentle with her, Hadrian. She has suffered a great deal
today."

"That is nothing in
comparison to what she is about to suffer."

Nicole stiffened.

"Be brave,"
Isobel said, leaning down to kiss Nicole's cheek. She again gave her son a
warning glance before departing.

Silence filled the room.
The grandfather clock standing on one wall ticked away the seconds loudly.
"Can you explain yourself?" Hadrian finally asked.

"I am sorry,"
Nicole tried.

"You are
sorry?!" Hadrian was incredulous. "Madam— you were about to be raped
and you tell me you are sorry?"

Fearfully, she said,
"We won't ride on the public roads again."

Hadrian exploded.
"Damn if you will ride anywhere again!"

Nicole jumped to her
feet. "Hadrian, be reasonable!"

"Be reasonable! Why
should I be reasonable while you are nothing but unreasonable!"

"I did not seek
this adventure out."

"Adventure!"
he shouted, beyond control now. "Only you, Madam Wife, would refer to a
near rape as an adventure!"

"That's not what I
meant," she cried.

He wanted to tear at his
hair. His fists clenched. "I have done everything that I
could
—from
the very beginning— to protect you from mishap of your own making. Yet every
time I turn my back, you are at mischief again. But this is beyond belief! Your
welfare—your life—could have been seriously jeopardized!"

"And I'm
sorry!" Nicole shouted back. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

Hadrian was beyond
stopping. "Look at you!" he raged. He shook her, ignoring her
attempts to twist free. "You look like some stableboy—except clearly you
are no boy! Good god! You might as well be naked! Did you ever think of how I
might feel, having my wife run around in clothing so tight that every man can
easily imagine her nude?"

Anger flared. "Now
you are exaggerating."

"Oh I am? William
told me everything, Madam. You attracted those men's worst intentions. Had you
been dressed in a proper riding habit—had you had a proper escort—they would
have never dared to attack you— the Duchess of Clayborough!" It was a
roar. "Or need I remind you of whom you are?"

Nicole wrenched free of
his grip. "No, you do not need to remind me of whom—and what—I now am! I
know damned well that I am now your duchess! How could I forget?"

"Ahh, so we
do
have
regrets!"

"Yes! I mean,
no!"

"Clearly you have
no idea what you mean," he shouted. "Just as you clearly have no idea
of the kind of havoc your thoughtless behavior continually wreaks."

How his words hurt. "Now
I suppose you are going to tell me that I must never ride astride, I must, at
all costs, at the cost of my own pleasure, maintain appearances."

"Yes, damn
it!"

Nicole was aghast.
"Surely you jest!"

"Believe me, Madam,
there is nothing to jest about right now."

"Then you
lied!" Nicole cried hysterically. "You told me I could do as I chose.
You told me many times. I chose to ride like this, I always ride at Dragmore
like this."

"This is not
Dragmore, and in case you have forgotten, as you so obviously have, you are my
duchess now. Damn it, Madam, I am sure it's all over town that you have an
inclination to dress like a boy. The gossips must be having a field day. Do you
eternally want to be the focus of malicious gossip?"

"No," she
admitted tearfully. "But..."

"There are no
buts." Hadrian released her and wheeled away from her, breathing deeply.
He was still shaken to the core by how close she had come to being raped, or
even killed. He was still shaking and in the worst kind of fear, an
overwhelming fear for his wife. If something had happened to Nicole he would
have never forgiven O'Henry or himself, when it was Nicole herself to blame. He
ran trembling hands through his hair, seeking control which he could barely
summon up. He was afraid he might do something unthinkable— like turn her over
his knee and beat her until she metamorphosed into a rational being and a lady
of decorum.

It was a long time
before he finally turned to face her again.

"Is—is Mr. O'Henry
going to be all right?"

"He will
undoubtedly be confined to his bed for a week or two, but he is not at death's
door. Although he could have been." He ignored her increased pallor. He
could not shake the image from his mind of Nicole riding directly into the fray
and striking at O'Henry's three assailants with her crop. "Go upstairs.
Get out of those clothes. Immediately."

Nicole hugged herself.
"What are you going to do?"

He grimaced. "For
one, I want those breeches burned." He ignored her protest.
"Secondly, you, Madam, shall stay away from the stables
indefinitely."

Nicole was outraged.

"Thirdly, I intend
to apprehend those outlaws and have them thrown into Newgate."

"Hadrian,"
Nicole gritted, "you are not being fair."

He whirled. "Do not
ever dare to accuse me of being unfair! I have your best interests at heart!
Clearly someone has to when you do not! I suggest you leave me
immediately!"

"When you calm
down," she managed, "we can continue this discussion."

"Go upstairs,
Madam. I mean
now.
I mean this instant. Before you make me behave in a
manner I shall regret."

Nicole no longer
hesitated, she fled.

It was a long time
before Nicole managed to stop trembling.

It was a combination of
all the circumstances that beset her so. She had been accosted with violent
intent, and the kindly stablemaster had almost been killed defending her. Those
circumstances alone would have been enough to keep her nerves quivering
uncontrollably, but her husband's reaction to it all and their furious fight
was the coup de grace. Nicole had run to him for comfort more than anything
else. Instead she had received a scalding setdown.

And perhaps, what made
it unbearable, was that Hadrian was right. She was wrong. She had acted more
than recklessly, she had been foolish. Had she at least been on the public
roads with a proper escort, the three vagrants would have never dared approach
her. But not only had she not had an escort, she had not even been attired as
the Duchess of Clayborough should be. In any case, Nicole could not deny that
it was her fault.
Because of her nitwit behavior, a man had almost been
killed.

She sat on the sumptuous
pink velvet bedspread in her dirty clothes and hugged herself. She had to sadly
admit that she was botching up being a duchess in full form— as well as ruining
her chances for a happy relationship with her husband.

She heard riders
galloping away from the front of the house. Nicole ran to the window. She could
make out her husband in the lead on his raw-boned black hunter. Her
stomach clenched. He was
going after her assailants.

There was a knock on her
door. Nicole answered, and both Mrs. Veig and Annie stepped in. Annie was
white-faced and anxious, and Nicole silently blessed her little maid for her
loyalty. Mrs. Veig was somber. Nicole knew that her unusually impassive
expression was an attempt to cover up her disapproval, the first instance of it
that Nicole had yet to discern.

"Draw Her Grace a
bath, Annie," Mrs. Veig said. Annie scurried to obey. Mrs. Veig set a tray
of cakes and hot chocolate down besides the chaise. "I thought you might like
a bit of something sweet to calm your nerves."

Nicole had no appetite,
but she nodded.

The housekeeper busied
herself in Nicole's closet, pulling out a warm wool robe and brocade slippers
lined with fleece. Nicole shed her boots, breeches and shirt on the floor.
Annie called to her that her bath was ready. Nicole was about to strip off her
underwear when she saw Mrs. Veig pick up her scattered clothing. Mrs. Veig
never attended to her dirty clothes, and an alarm sounded in Nicole's mind.
"Mrs. Veig," she said, "what are you doing?"

"I'm sorry, Your
Grace. But His Grace ordered me to take these clothes."

Nicole stood very still.
"And burn them?"

"Yes."

Her entire body tensed.

"I'm sorry, Your
Grace," the housekeeper said again. She left with the clothes, thankfully
leaving Nicole's custom-made boots behind.

Nicole closed her eyes.
She was truly sorry for her role in what had happened, but this was going too
far. Yet instead of anger, there was only hurt. This past week had been
paradise. Now where had it gone?

Nicole did not leave her
rooms. She waited for her husband to return to Clayborough with no small amount
of anxiety. She hoped that he would be calmer and more reasonable when he did
return. She was determined to undo the damage she had done, she was determined
to get their relationship back on the track that it had been on. She would meet
him in the library before supper as always, and she would be a paragon of
propriety. If he did not bend, if he chose not to forget or ignore what had
happened that day, then she would be more aggressive in her plan of attack. She
would steal into his bed and seduce him. A night of passion would surely
distract him from his anger with her.

It was a simple plan.
She prayed she would not have to use it, she prayed that when Hadrian returned
he would be in a better, more forgiving mood.

It seemed that Nicole
passed an eternity waiting for her husband to return, but a glance at the clock
told her it was not even an hour. She waited uncertainly in her rooms, her
heart lodged like a stone in her chest. Would he come to see her? Wouldn't he
come to tell her if he had been successful in hunting down the ruffians who had
attacked her and O'Henry? Then she would have a chance to judge his mood before
she went to meet him in the library. She could not bear the uncertainty, the
waiting.

But he did not come. She
heard him enter his apartments, which adjoined hers. She waited. She listened
acutely to the sounds coming from his rooms. She could not decide what he was
doing, but it seemed as if he were changing his clothes. Her hopes lifted
briefly as she thought that he was readying himself to meet her in the library,
but then they abruptly sank. For she heard him leaving his suite and heading
down the corridor— not towards her door, but away from it.

And a few moments later
she heard a coach and horses coming around to the front of the house. Nicole
ran to the window. Shocked, she watched her husband, dressed for travel in a
many-tiered greatcoat, step into the Clayborough coach. A moment later it
rolled away amidst its cavalcade of liveried outriders.

Three days later, Nicole
began to be quite angry. Hadrian had left without bothering to inform her of
where he was going. And he had yet to send a single word to her as to when he
would return. Separated as they were, she could not gauge his mood, but she
found it hard to believe that he might still be angry over an incident that was
fast becoming ancient history.

Nicole had too much
pride to ask Mrs. Veig where her husband had gone. But he had taken his valet
and butler with him—not an encouraging sign. Again, Annie was put to the task
of ferreting out information. She soon told Nicole that he had gone to
Clayborough House in London, and that no one had any idea of when he would
return.

Could it be possible
that he was still angry with her?

Or was he merely
indifferent—and completely inconsiderate?

By the third day, Nicole
was becoming thoroughly angry. Was this his way of punishing her? Hadn't she
apologized? She had even learned her lesson! In the future she would ride in
public with an escort and in proper attire. No one would have any grounds to
say one accusatory word about the Duchess of Clayborough. Her husband would be
proud of her. Privately, however, she would continue to do as she chose. She
thought this the fairest of compromises. She had yet to exercise this last
step, though, wanting to resolve her relationship with her husband first. She
could imagine only too well that if he happened upon her riding in breeches,
even if it were on Clayborough land at the crack of dawn with a few grooms, he
would jump to the wrong conclusions. She would put this disastrous argument
behind them, not fan the flames of another fiery fight.

Nicole had just decided
to go to London to join her husband when Mrs. Veig informed her that she had a
caller. Nicole raised a brow, surprised, wondering whom it could possibly be.
She had yet to receive anyone other than her family, and Nicole was glad that
they had come when she was still living in a state of paradise, and not now,
when she felt as if she were about to walk through the gates of hell.

Mrs. Veig told her it
was Lady Stacy Worthington.

Nicole got a very bad
feeling.

She resolved to be
gracious. She would be a role model of propriety, the perfect duchess. Quickly
she had Mrs. Veig help her change into a spectacularly expensive gown, one
suited to an afternoon in the city, not at home in the country. With it she
donned her diamonds—all of them.

A half an hour later she
descended the stairs like a queen to greet Stacy in the rose salon. That
particular room was the size of many a gentleman's ballroom. Of course, Stacy
had undoubtedly been to Clayborough many times, but being a guest, she could
not have done more than glimpse a quarter or less of the palatial residence.
Even if she had been in this room before, it was still imposing.

Stacy rose to her feet
from the sofa where she sat. "Good afternoon, Your Grace."

As Nicole came
closer—and it took some time to cross the room—she saw the gleam in the other woman's
eyes and her sense of suspicion grew. "Hello, Stacy. What a surprise. Mrs.
Veig, please bring us more sandwiches. And some sweets." Nicole smiled at
Stacy. She had addressed her without her deferential title purposefully. For
Stacy would not really be Lady Stacy until she married a nobleman.

Stacy smiled back. It
was feral.

Nicole sat in a bergere
facing her visitor; Stacy sat back down on the sofa. The two women looked at
each other. Silence reigned.

Normally, Nicole would
have bluntly asked Stacy what she wanted. But she was resolved to be the
epitome of a hostess. "The roads are becoming bad, are they not? I hope it
did not make traveling too difficult for you."

"They're not too
bad, not yet. So, when will Hadrian return?"

Nicole was dismayed at
the possibility that Stacy might know that Hadrian was in London, and not here
with her. "Excuse me?"

"From town."
Stacy was still smiling.

"Why, as soon as he
concludes his business."

"How urgent it must
be. After all, you have not been wed more than a week or so."

Nicole held onto her
temper. "It was of the utmost urgency."

"Hmmm. But he still
had time to go to No. 12 Crawford Street."

Nicole blinked. Whatever
Stacy was driving at, she had no notion what it might be. "Yes, well, I
imagine he has business there as well."

Stacy hooted. "You
don't know, do you! You don't know what No. 12 Crawford Street is!"

It was very hard to
maintain her poise. "No, I don't." But she suddenly had an idea, a
distasteful idea.

Stacy was gleeful.
"Hadrian has apartments there. He has had apartments there since he was
eighteen."

Nicole tried very hard
not to understand. "I see."

"You still don't
comprehend me, do you! He keeps those apartments for his mistress!"

The color drained from
Nicole's face. When she spoke, it was numbly. "I don't believe you."
She didn't—she did not believe her! She would not believe her!

"Surely you did not
marry Hadrian with ignorance of his reputation for women! Why, his current
mistress is considered to be the most beautiful woman in all of London. She is
French, an actress they say. Her name is Holland Dubois."

No, Nicole thought, it
is not true. He could not. He could not. He could not have gone to another
woman, not after what they had shared.
But she had known he had a mistress.
She had known of his reputation. Hadn't that been the reason she did not want
to marry him in the first place? Hadn't she known that one day he would tire of
her and go to other women?

"If you do not
believe me, then why don't you go and see for yourself?" Stacy was
triumphant.

Although Nicole's
numbness was rapidly turning into a searing pain, she spoke with the utmost
calm. "Why should I do that? All men have mistresses, and yes, I certainly
knew of my husband's reputation before we were wed. The news you bring me
changes nothing. I am, after all, the Duchess of Clayborough. You think I care
about his dalliance with an
actress?"

Stacy was taken aback.
Her glee was gone. "Well," she said in a huff. "I was only
trying to help you."

"How kind you
are."

Stacy rose. "I can
see you don't want my friendship! I think I had better leave!"

"You can certainly
do as you choose." Politely, Nicole also stood, summoning Mrs. Veig.
"Please escort Lady Worthington to the door," she said.

She knew it was true.

She would not believe
it, not until she saw Holland Dubois at No. 12 Crawford Street with her own two
eyes.

She would not believe
that Hadrian had left her after what they had shared—after the promise that had
been inherent in the blossoming beginning of their relationship—to go to another
woman.

She would not, she did
not.